Night of the Cougar. Caridad Pineiro
thighs further and laid her hands on his shoulders, inviting him to play.
He licked and sucked her clit, loving the taste of her and her ragged cries of pleasure. The bite of her nails into his skin kept him close. She was wet from his mouth and from her arousal as he pushed first one finger and then another into her, preparing her for his penetration. He stroked and spread her until she was shaking beneath him and begging for more with the upward thrust of her hips.
He rose up then, positioning the head of his erection at her entrance. His thumb rode her clit, keeping up the pressure that had her on the edge. His gaze connected with hers, which had deepened to an almost sapphire-blue. With his free hand, he reached up and cradled her cheek. She moved her head, nipped at his thumb before sucking it into her mouth.
God, he nearly came from that lick, but reined himself in enough to slowly push forward into the tight canal of her vagina until he was fully sheathed in her. He held still then, allowing her to acclimate to him. Allowing himself to relish the warm, tight wetness of her.
Jamie held her breath at his complete penetration, unprepared for the feel of so much man inside her. Above her. Around her. There was no getting away from the feel, smell and taste of Galen, she thought, and licked his thumb again, sampling the saltiness of his skin and the taste of her from his earlier caresses.
“You feel…amazing,” he said, rotating his thumb against her clit. Her muscles clenched around him in response, dragging his eyes shut with the sensation of it.
She reached up, skipped her hand from his shoulder down to his chest. She saw it then, just beneath one armpit, the star-shaped scar from the bullet that had nearly taken his life. Covering it with her hand, she whispered, “Never be sorry you’re alive, Galen.”
He tensed at her words and slowly opened his eyes. His pupils had gone nearly black with emotion, and she worried she had pushed too far, but then a tremor worked across his body, almost like a physical release of what he had been feeling.
He finally moved then, drawing back with that magnificent cock before driving forward again, his motions controlled and deliberate.
She accepted each thrust, which sent her rising higher and higher toward a release. She urged him on by roaming her hands all across his body, which seemed to give him great pleasure. Almost as if it had been way too long since he’d been touched. That thought hit her more powerfully than the passion he was rousing.
Grabbing hold of his shoulders, she raised herself up and kissed his temple. Then his cheek. The shell of his ear. Her kisses like benediction—until she reached his mouth.
His lips were firmed into a tight line as he strove to please her. She dropped kiss after kiss along the edges of his mouth until he finally opened to her and accepted the slide of her tongue.
She kissed him over and over, dancing her tongue along his. Rolling her hips to embrace his possession, pushing him even deeper. Pressing her breasts into him to tease the hard wall of his chest.
“God, Jamie. You feel incredible,” he said, but she could sense him holding back.
“Come with me, Galen. Come with me,” she pleaded.
With a groan and a last grind of his hips, he came and took her over the edge with him.
Chapter Three
One year later
New York City
Jamie drove away the desire she felt, creating an ache in her chest that she had to quell.
Forget about him, she thought as she gathered her research for another story she was working on for a future issue. Forgetting was hard to do, however, as she called the Cat’s Claw Inn to reserve a room for the next few days. She would head up tomorrow morning and stay at the inn while she tried to get Galen to see her again.
The innkeeper’s perkiness grated against Jamie’s frazzled emotions and she hurried the woman off the phone by rattling off her credit card information and cell phone number. Dropping her phone back into the cradle, she wished she’d made the reservations online.
Stuffing everything into her leather knapsack, she headed home, but even there she couldn’t escape Galen.
As soon as she entered, her gaze settled on her copy of Galen’s book sitting on her desk. She dropped her keys on a foyer table and her knapsack on the floor and slowly, reluctantly, walked over.
The cover and top few pages had a curl at one corner from the many times she had opened the book and tried to read it. She had never gotten past that damning dedication and note.
She once again flipped through the pages until she reached that spot. In the printer’s neat typeface it read, “To J. Thanks for pulling me back into the world.”
But in smudged ink in larger masculine script Galen had written, “I’m sorry.”
She was sorry, too. Sorry she’d had wild animal sex with him. Sorry she had made a fool of herself with all those calls after he’d been hurt.
Sorry that she had ever met him.
Tossing the book back on the desk, she walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. Then she headed to her bedroom, intent on driving him out of her mind with a good read.
But not even the latest romance from her favorite author helped. If anything, every time the sexy hero sauntered onto the pages bare chested in his formfitting jeans, she pictured Galen.
Disgusted, she gulped down the rest of her wine and hunkered down to sleep, hoping Galen would stay out of her dreams.
* * *
The skies were a leaden-gray and a ferocious wind rocked her Jeep Wrangler as she drove from New York City to Cat’s Claw Mountain the next morning. The first flakes of snow had begun in Connecticut and grown heavier with each passing mile, slowing her arrival at the inn. Once she had checked in and dropped off her bags, she had headed up the mountain to Galen’s, hoping to beat out the worst of the storm.
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